Last Chance Summer - Shannon Klare Page 0,43

this room.” I grabbed a handful of toilet paper, tossed it in a trash can beside the bed, and headed for the door. When I crossed the threshold outside, most of the cabin two guys stood on the road below.

Smiles graced their faces, amusement running rampant.

“Just wait,” I said, glaring at Grant. “Payback will be worse.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, watching me.

He held two travel mugs today, one his usual and the other an iridescent shade. He handed me the iridescent one. The bitter smell of coffee piqued my senses.

“Bribery will only get you so far,” I said, sipping.

“This isn’t a bribe, it’s a peace offering,” he said.

“Same thing.” I sipped the steaming liquid. The hazelnut undertones burned their way through my mind—Nikki’s favorite flavor.

“Either way, it isn’t working,” I said, shaking away the memory. “My girls are bitter. You could bring me Starbucks and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Good, because there isn’t a Starbucks in a forty-mile radius,” Grant said, nudging me.

I nudged him back, my eyes on the mess hall. “I was up past one, trying to get the room situated enough it was sleepable.”

“See this,” he said, rubbing his pointer finger and thumb together. “It’s the world’s smallest violin.”

I hit him in the arm and he laughed.

“I could report you for violence,” he said.

“Report me and you’ll only be making things worse for yourself,” I said.

“Ooh, I’m scared,” he said, grinning.

“You should be. You just started a war.”

He sipped his coffee again, eyeing me over the rim. “Right. Okay. Just remember to put your hostility aside long enough to be a decent team member in the counselor basketball game. We can’t bring that drama to the team.”

I choked on my coffee, warmth draining from my face. “Um, I don’t play basketball,” I said.

“If you’re a counselor, you play,” he said. “It’s mandatory.”

“Mandatory?!”

“Did you not read the welcome manual?”

I shot him a side-eye. “There was no welcome manual. This is some plan you’ve concocted in your head. Freak out Alex before nine o’clock and get a sticker. Not today, Satan.”

“Except it’s been on the schedule from day one,” he said.

“I didn’t read the schedule!”

“Personal problem,” he said, laughing.

I shifted my weight, dread swirling in my stomach. “There’s a spot for managers. Right? I’ll be responsible for all the water bottles or something.”

“You have to play,” he said. “All of the counselors play. It gives the kids an opportunity to root for their cabin. Creates cabin unity or whatever bonding term Loraine wants to call it.”

“My girls won’t want to bond with me when they realize they got the crappy end of the stick and ended up with a counselor who literally has zero athletic ability,” I said. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “They’re going to disown me.”

“If it helps, I’m playing too,” Grant said. “I can make a hoop or two and compensate for your lack of skills. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. You’ll get all the glory and I’ll be the disappointment,” I said.

“It’s all about the optimism, Alex.”

“No, this situation calls for a substantial dose of pessimism,” I said, walking again.

He opened the door to the mess hall. The smell of bacon and eggs clung to the air. We got through the line quickly and found a place at cabin two’s unusually crowded table. Our group of campers were scattered across the seats, the boys doing most of the talking while my girls threatened to prank them back.

None of it mattered. The prospective basketball game had a choke hold on my nerves. My anxiety grew by the second.

“Um, earth to Alex,” Grant said, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

I blinked, fork in hand as two hazel eyes peered at me beneath the brim of a hat. “Yeah?” I said. “What? What did I miss?”

“You’re really freaking out, aren’t you?” he said, cocking his head.

I let out a long sigh, dropping my fork beside my uneaten food. “I’m totally freaking out,” I said. “There’re a lot of things I’m good at, but sports isn’t on the list. I literally embarrass myself every time I try.”

“You can’t be that bad.”

“When I started junior high, I wanted to be on the basketball team,” I said, looking at him. “At our school, it was kind of the thing to do. Everyone made the team so even if I was terrible, there was a guarantee I could at least travel with them and participate somehow.

“But when I was in eighth grade, the coach asked